


The Death of a Magic Show

by Cairbre Nollette (sapphonymph)



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Bisexual Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Blood and Violence, Case Fic, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Spencer Reid, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Injured Emily Prentiss, Lesbian Emily Prentiss, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective BAU Team (Criminal Minds), Protective Derek Morgan, Protective Emily Prentiss, Protective Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Romantic Fluff, Sexual Tension, Undercover Missions, Unsub | Unknown Subject
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphonymph/pseuds/Cairbre%20Nollette
Summary: "Save me from this hell," he whispered into the mist his breath gave off. He sobbed, "Derek, please, help."Spencer Reid is taken by the very killer he came so close to catching. Will his friends and the love of his life make it in time? Or will they be too late?
Relationships: Derek Morgan & Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	The Death of a Magic Show

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't see the tags, because this is a Criminal Minds fic, this is your TW for mentions of sexual assault, drug abuse, and depictions of violence & dead bodies. Stay safe <3

Doctor Spencer Reid walked into the bullpen with an empty hand begging for a warm cup of coffee. His hair was a ratty mess, hanging over his eyes as he made his way to the break room, and his forties tweed and pinstripe attire was recycled from the day before.

It was that time of day, early in the morning, when the world felt abandoned and the nippy air was all that indicated he was truly still alive. His pulse wasn't very trustworthy, for it was always performing a cadence too fast for comfort.

He dragged his feet towards the kitchen area, where he found agent Derek Morgan already pouring himself a mug. His shoulders rolled effortlessly as he worked, and Spencer paused to take it all in. The warm coffee smell, the soft sound of the machine whirring, agent Morgan and all his glory.

Derek turned and grinned at him, sending the doctor's heart plummeting to his feet.

"Morning, pretty boy," he cooed, but it was far too early for Spencer, who gave a floppy wave of his wrist and reached for the coffee pot. The harsh overhead lights reflecting off the milky white linoleum stabbed Spencer in the eyes and he squinted away from it. "Ooh, long night?" The agent asked him, clearly amused. He took a sip of his coffee, watching Spencer's shaky, slender hands stir his morning brew.

He looked hypnotized by the cream and sugar swirling into thin billows of steam. "I guess." He added more sugar. Spencer had been hopelessly unable to sleep as of late. He tried, but he always ended up staring at the ceiling until the sun was shining through his window. Today was no different. The dreadful circles under his eyes were even darker than usual, and his tie was crooked around his neck. He stared into his coffee, sucked into a sleepy haze.

Derek's playful grin dwindled, and he nudged him. "Hey, kid, you alright?"

Spencer glanced up momentarily before bringing his mug to his lips. "Yeah, I'm fine."

For a profiler, Spencer was a _really_ bad liar. But Derek didn't have time to question him any further because just then, JJ appeared in the doorway.

Her long, blonde hair tumbled past her shoulders in waves as she swung her head into the room, holding up the folder she had tucked under her arm. They knew what that meant.

"Round table in five." She stopped to fasten the last button on her teal-colored blouse and pinned her hair up in a tight ponytail. Come to think of it, she _had_ looked rather disheveled when she first came in. And she was wearing _purple lipstick_. JJ never wore lipstick, which was probably why it was smeared sloppily around her mouth, Spencer scrutinized.

Then again, it was six in the morning, and the overtly waspish and strict Aaron Hotchner had summoned the team with a single text message. It didn't leave them with much time to make themselves presentable. Somehow, however, Derek was. Presentable, that is. Unlike JJ's blouse, Derek left his collar open, letting his chest breathe. He never failed to wake the butterflies in Spencer's stomach.

Agent Morgan pushed up from the counter and spoke into his coffee. "How bad is it?" He took the folder from her hand and passed it to Reid, who couldn't help but peek inside.

JJ only sighed in response, her ponytail swinging behind her as she hurried away to hunt down the others.

Spencer stiffened when he realized how close Derek had gotten to him. He flattened the case file against his chest, staring like a deer in the headlights. Derek's big hands enclosed around the younger agent's neck, and he straightened his tie for him. He pushed it up against Spencer's collar and smoothed it out, saying, "lighten up, pretty boy. It sounds like we're gonna need that big, beautiful brain of yours." Derek tousled his hair and took a step back.

The tips of Spencer's ears burned, and he averted his gaze, holding his breath to keep himself upright, like a balloon. There was something about Derek's swarthy, chiseled frame brushing up against him that flustered Spencer, and it was surprisingly draining to hide the fact. "Thanks," he muttered, giddily following the agent to the conference room.

The conference room was getting to be too small for their acutely overloaded assembly. The Bureau didn't care much for _new_ things unless it was a living, breathing person they could cycle through the BAU and ring out on the other side. Hotch and agent Rossi were seated on the far side of the room, talking amongst themselves. They were both wearing suits and ties, but Rossi styled his with jeans. His hair and beard were getting greyer and greyer every day. It was like watching grass grow, and Spencer wondered how long until Hotch's inky, black hair was next.

They grew quiet when they noticed Morgan and Reid walk in, and the rest of the team wasn't far behind.

The utmost bubbly and effervescent Penelope Garcia shuffled inside, holding her clicker at the ready. She was sporting a carnation colored dress with a sequence cardigan, gold hoops, and glimmering eyeshadow.

As much as he loved Penelope, the abstract pattern and flashiness of her outfit, paired with her shiny jewelry and bright pink glasses made Spencer's head spin. That and the sunlight glaring in his direction sent a headache splitting down his skull.

JJ waltzed into the room shortly after Morgan and Reid found their chairs, with agent Emily Prentiss at her heels. She had touched up her lipstick and wiped most of it off, but that was no shock to Spencer and Derek. Purple lipstick was Emily's signature look; JJ's roughly painted face must've driven her mad and there was, to their understanding, a girl code. The residue still stained the pad of agent Prentiss' thumb as she plopped down and crossed her legs.

"I'm sorry to have to bring you guys in so early, but it is urgent. Let's get started," Hotch commenced before handing the floor over to Garcia. He remained stone-faced as he sat back down.

"Okay, hold on to your badges, this one is a doozy," she began, turning towards the screen. The look on her face said it all as she pulled up the earliest of the crime scene photos.

A young woman with voluminous auburn hair was captured lying awkwardly across the pavement, her throat raw and irritated. Her eyes were bloodshot, bulging out of her head as she stared into the camera. The life had quite literally been squeezed out of her.

Garcia swallowed and looked away. "Um- this is... Elizabeth Mackenzie, twenty- three, an art student from Omaha, Nebraska. She was found dead outside the diner where she worked a little under a month ago, strangled to death."

More pictures popped up. "Catherine Frazier, thirty- two, was killed one week later... Bonnie Owens, twenty- eight, discovered last night... and just like the others, ligature marks on the neck. All three women waited tables in dainty roadside diners, which are spread apart within a four hundred mile radius along I-80." Garcia let out a wobbly breath, flicking her hands as if to shake away the icky feeling. " _Warm_ home-cooked meals, rustic furniture, cozy little booths... Little diners are _supposed_ to be cozy! Why must serial killers ruin everything?"

Morgan jumped in first, "so our unsub's gotta type." He rocked his chair side to side, drumming his pencil on his knee. "Redheads." The other two victims looked just like the first, give or take a few shapely differences.

"Yeah, maybe not, sunshine." Garcia countered.

"Why's that?" Hotch inquired, his brow furrowed.

"Oh-okay, uh, when I got the call this morning, Omaha PD informed me that a man has just been reported missing. Hunter Lane was last seen working the night shift at Rita's Diner,"

Reid interjected, "isn't that,"

"yes- boy wonder, that is the same place our first victim was murdered. Hunter never made it home this morning. His roommate was the one who went to the police, and he told them that Hunter has been studying for an exam all week. There was no way he would miss it unless he was... well," she shielded her own eyes before pushing the button.

The slide changed, and every agent in the room flinched away. Spencer's face tightened into a grimace and his toes curled. Prentiss reached over and folded her hand around JJ's, who threaded their fingers together and closed her eyes.

They had caught a gruesome glimpse of the crime scene. There was a severed arm strapped across the entrance of Rita's Diner, Hunter's pale fingers still gripping the door handle. His fingernails were dirty like he had clawed at the mud while being dragged. Dark and sticky blood trickled down the festively decorated glass door and spilled onto the cement. Torn flesh and ligaments dangled from where Hunter's shoulder _should_ be.

The scene was quickly covered up by a recent photo of Hunter Lane. Spencer's eyes grew wide, and he knew _exactly_ what everyone was thinking. Hunter and Spencer were almost identical. Shaggy, brown hair, sunken, hazel eyes, tall.

Reid spoke up before anybody else could. "Could he still be alive? They haven't found a body yet, correct?" He fought back a yawn, shifting in his seat and hunching over the table. He could feel Derek's eyes on him, and he twisted his mug around in his hand, looking up at Garcia.

She nodded. "As far as we know, Hunter is alive."

"Could this be turning into a spree? Why would our unsub change his MO this early? This fast?" Rossi wondered aloud. "Hunter doesn't have red hair, and he's certainly not a woman. And why not kill him outside the diner? Why _this_?"

Prentiss tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, combing the top of her head for ideas. "He's either evolving... or he's spiraling deeper into some kind of psychotic break," she said thoughtfully. Her thick lashes fanned out across her cheeks as she stared down at her tablet. "Look at the way he displays these women. He makes their deaths quick and clean. He lays them face down, fully clothed, right where they're sure to be found immediately after he leaves. He's showing them remorse."

Morgan scratched his shaved head. "So why is Hunter any different?"

"Perhaps the victimology changes depending on gender. With women, he's mourning them but with men, he wants them to pay, dearly," Reid observed, resting his chin on his hand and studying the papers in front of him. "Something about the people he chooses could live as a reminder of something that happened in his past. His victims are young, which leads me to believe it didn't involve his parents but a peer or a partner. It could be vengeful or romantic... either way, he's going after both men and women, and he has a specific type."

"You think he's sexually diverse? Maybe bisexual?" Morgan clarified, raising an eyebrow. Reid didn't know why, but the way Morgan said that made him prickle up. He hadn't said it in a particularly ridiculing way, but Reid just felt weird all of a sudden. He found himself wondering how Derek felt about things like that.

The team's heads started turning, waiting for an answer.

He shook himself, moving his hands aimlessly as he talked. "It's possible, but until we learn the role these people played in his life, it's hard to say for sure. And until we collect more evidence, we don't know what these mutilations are doing for him. They could be providing him a sexual release or simple, sadistic pleasure. We know he cares for the women, but serial killers show their love in such obscure ways..."

Suddenly, JJ's phone rang. She answered it and held it to her ear, "Sheriff Hemmingway?" They listened to the man's voice squeak through the speaker. All eyes were on JJ as she pushed her fingers through her hair and replied, "He... he what?" Her mouth was agape, and she tapped her fingers on the table. Prentiss grabbed them again and pulled them into her lap. "O- of course. We'll be there as soon as we can."

"JJ?" Hotch stared at her intensely when she hung up the phone.

"That was the head of the Omaha police... Hunter's body has just been discovered."

"Where?" Hotch was already gathering his things, which meant they would be leaving soon.

"In an alleyway not far from the original kill site. It doesn't sound good. They're waiting for us."

Rossi rubbed his brow and adjusted his blazer. "He's breaking routine again," he pointed out, frustrated.

"We can work that out on the jet, everybody, wheels up in thirty." Hotch stood, followed by JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi, as they briskly dispersed. The round table emptied into the bustling hall outside, and suddenly it felt bare. The muddy walls and tall windows made the room stretch out and expose doctor Reid as he scooped up his things.

Spencer shoved his papers into his messenger bag, a lot less neat than how he would normally do so. He grabbed his coffee and turned to leave, but Derek hooked his arm and pulled him back down.

He glanced at Garcia, who was still packing up her presentation. She picked up the spikey, rubber ball she had been holding while looking over the disturbing crime scene photos and shut off her tablet, piling it all in her arms.

Spencer's eyebrows arched, curiously, but he eventually concluded that he wasn't getting an explanation until they were alone.

"Good luck, gorgeous," Garcia reached down and squeezed Derek's shoulder, who smiled adoringly up at her. Her neon high heels echoed throughout the entire office as she strutted away.

Spencer looked at Derek expectantly and the agent finally opened his mouth. "What's going on with you? Talk to me."

Spencer recoiled, perhaps a bit _too_ defensively. "I told you, I'm fine." He bounced his leg, but his legs were so long that they collided with the table. It shook their mugs and Derek stilled them with his hand.

"No. You're not." He leaned forward, staring Spencer straight in the eye, and the doctor's gaze fell to the floor. "I know you, kid. Something's eating at you. Is it the case? Is it Hunter?" When Reid didn't answer, Morgan placed a hand on his knee and he looked up. "You don't look so hot. I'm sure Hotch would understand if you need to sit this one out."

Spencer didn't like being profiled. Sure, being checked up on wasn't the same as profiling, but it felt like it. It made him feel vulnerable and trapped.

He just shrugged and trained his eyes on their shoes. He was wearing his old, weathered sneakers while Derek fashioned a pair of dirtied, black boots. "I'm just tired." It wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. It was all he was willing to say. He could never tell Derek that the reason he stayed awake at night was to ward off the thoughts he had about _him_. That agent Morgan was always on his mind, and it was _killing_ him from the inside out like poison. "But- but I'm okay. I'm good to work this case."

His answer seemed to be good enough for Derek because he nodded and started to stand up. "Alright, well, you know where to find me when you feel like talking. I mean it, don't let yourself suffer through whatever this is alone. We're here for you. You know that."

Spencer offered a small smile, tucking his hair behind his ears and getting to his feet. Derek wrapped a strong and sturdy arm around his shoulders and led him through the winding building to retrieve their go-bags. His fingers casually worked their way up into Spencer's overgrown and tangled hair as they walked together, causing a shudder to possess his body.

Derek peeled away from him when they reached the locker room, and they split up to wend towards their separate compartments. Reid walked slowly, thinking about the case because when he focused on the details he'd read and memorized from the file, he wasn't thinking about Derek.

* * *

On the jet, Morgan and Reid sat elbow to elbow, across from Prentiss and JJ. Hotch perched himself on the opposite side of the aisle, and Rossi took up the couch, distancing himself from the group. Garcia's face lit up the screens on both ends of the tube-like aircraft.

It didn't help that Spencer and Derek were smushed together at every chance they got. The brains and the brawn, Garcia called them. " _The perfect duo_."

The team was in the middle of discussing what they already knew and devising a plan to find out the rest of the missing pieces needed to catch this killer.

Spencer found himself staring out the window for the duration of the ride, holding onto the enlivening sense of peace that washed over him as they glided above the clouds. But it was short-lived.

"Reid," Hotch's voice broke into him, and he turned to face their unit chief, who appeared to have asked him a question.

He wet his lips nervously, "I'm- I'm sorry, what?" He could practically _feel_ the heat of Derek's gaze against the side of his face but he didn't dare turn to meet it.

Hotch gave him _that_ look. The look a father gives his son when he knows something is up. But he must've decided now was not the time, repeating what it was he had said while Reid was zoning out. "What do you notice about this case?"

By _you_ , he meant, _hey genius, give us some of that magical insight_. So, Reid sat up and gathered his thoughts. "It's rare that serial killers cross interstates like this. Traditionally, they find a haven in their comfort zones and refuse to deviate from their geography for that reason. However, it appears that our unsub's 'comfort zone' is widely spread out. So, he's confident enough to travel from place to place but not confident enough to pull this off in any other location besides... a diner. These rest stops are often secluded, giving him the advantage of a quiet and relatively empty location to commit his crimes. He has a low risk of eyewitnesses, and he's attacking smaller, younger people who are easy to overpower. He's probably socially awkward, of average or below-average build, and overcompensating for something he lacks. This makes him easy to trust and easy to underestimate."

Prentiss nodded in understanding, her bangs creating a curtain above her eyes as she picked at her nails. JJ stopped her by holding her hand. "Okay, so, he could be a trucker, or maybe a hitchhiker. Somebody who knows the road and visits these places frequently enough to familiarize himself with the locals," she suggested, glancing around at the rest of the team.

Morgan piped up. "So what Reid is saying is these diners are his only _reliable_ constant. Even if his MO changes, we can count on him to come back to the same spot for his next victim, or somewhere close by."

"In a four hundred mile radius... he could be anywhere." JJ sighed, leaning her head back against the seat.

"Hey," Rossi, who had been scribbling all of this down in his little notebook, shot his head up. "We'll catch this guy. We will. We should start with the victims, try to learn what they mean to our unsub. Then, we can narrow down where he might strike next. And we'll be there, waiting for him when he does." JJ smiled at the determination in Rossi's voice and met Emily's eyes, who was smiling just as wide.

Hotch looked up from his files. "I agree with Rossi, we need to find out what motivates the unsub. Put ourselves in his shoes, and get a step ahead of him. Reid, Morgan, I want you guys to hit up Rita's Diner shortly after we land. Prentiss and Rossi will go to the dumpsite, and JJ and I will visit the victims' families. We'll stop by the station and get situated first, but we need to work fast. If Hunter was just killed, he'll already be moving onto a new victim." Hotch glanced up to where Garcia hovered at her desk back in Quantico. "Garcia, I want you to see what you can find on any security cameras or city traffic cams along I-680."

"Can do, sir, but I doubt there are any security cameras _inside_ the diners. Most family-owned businesses, like the ones our unsub loves to murder people in, can't afford it. I bet he knows that too- sneaky little..."

"That's fine. Also, do a background check on any past and present employees at each of the three rest stops. Try to go back as far as you can and look for any red flags, specifically any employees who may have gotten fired or laid off within the last couple of months."

"Of course, my liege, anything else?" Garcia's fingers brushed over the keys like raindrops pattering on a tin roof. Spencer found comfort in that sound. It usually meant a solution was on the rise.

"That will be all, thank you, Garcia," Hotch said, dragging a hand down his face, and the ray of sunshine that was Penelope blipped away from the screen. Spencer could see it as he watched Hotch frown out the window, the grass growing. Those grey hairs itching to see the sun.

The jet ascended higher into a grey and cloudy sky, and the agents prepared themselves for Omaha, Nebraska.


End file.
